Saturday, May 27, 2017

The real thing




Some people will never experience Berlin

Except through stories,

Have their thirst for the thrill quenched

Than by reading.

Close, but never close enough ;

I never saw that sunset,

Just the reflection of it,

And it was just as perfect.


Not all love stories have the happy ending

But that does not make them any less real 

Than the real thing.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

The same poem



A new beginning,
A comparable ending
It is the same poem
I keep writing.

The message differs
The titles adjust
One more figure of speech
For picking up a broken piece.

Elusive alterations
Editing the outcome
A plethora of versions 
For my book of poems.

Another round,
Back to square one
Are there any words left
This heart has not said.

Thursday, April 20, 2017

Foreign land



If he really loved you...
If he really loved me, what? 
I suffer from Fernweh constantly,
Which horribly translates to wanderlust in English
Read the irony;
Still, I am traveling.
His blue eyes gallivant for a split second,
Sensible to where his mind escapes to,
I let him. 
I go fetch him water
He sneaks up from behind
Never turning around, 
He sees my soul full frontal.
If he really loved you...
If I really loved him, I know
What works

He is foreign land,
And I do not own a map.